Everyone,
it seems, has an opinion about "Slumdog Millionaire." And with the
Oscars being announced Sunday night, those opinions are being spouted
all over the place - in Los Angeles, in Mumbai and everywhere in
between. So here is the START of a roundup of the opinion pieces
surrounding Slumdog (it's too much work to keep typing out the full
title or to worry about quote marks). In order to make it more exhaustive
(and exhausting to read!) please post essays, blog posts, links, etc, in the comments section below.

~~~

Before
I get to the roundup, however, I wanted to get a little personal and
recount some of what happened this week across three generations of
Sreenivasans, tell you of a childhood incident and share how I made
peace with Oscar.

As we were planning this weekend's Academy
Award-viewing plans, I mentioned them to my 5-year-old twins, Durga and
Krishna. "Oscar Award?" asked Krishna, "is that when they give awards
for garbage?" - referring, of course, to the green,
garbage-can-inhabiting Muppet on Sesame Street, Oscar the Grouch.

As I tried to correct him, I realized his description of the Oscars would please his grandfather, my dad, T.P. Sreenivasan.
If he'd heard Krishna, he might have said, "Yes, that's about right."
After all, that's basically what my father thinks of the worthiness of
Slumdog. He captured his feelings about the movie in a piece in India's
Rediff.com entitled "Exploiting India." Among the, er, highlights:

* Having read the novel
and seen the film, I cannot say that it has done more good than harm to
India. This is not a matter of my wanting to shove the reality under
the carpet.

* ...the film is exploitation
of the novel, of Dharavi, of poverty, of Rahman, of India itself to
titillate foreign audiences. It is the exploitation of the new
curiosity about India's success. The curiosity today is not about
maharajas and snake charmers, magic or rope trick, but about the market
and the malls, the computers and the cell phones.

* India rejoiced at the Gandhi Oscars, but Slumdog Oscars, if any, will only highlight how India became a victim of exploitation.

*
Quoting someone else: "It is poverty porn at its worst. The Mumbai
marauders are supposed to have done their deed to hurt India, to
challenge its success, to expose its soft underbelly. But this movie
has done the job better"

Like all good opinion pieces, it's provocative and makes its points without subtlety. In
keeping with what seems now to be family tradition, my younger brother
and I are mentioned - and promptly dismissed - as "champions of the
film."

He and I can agree 100 percent on a para he wrote toward the end:

The fact remains,
however, that the novelist and the makers of the movie have brought to
light the horrors of Dharavi. If the passion it has aroused could be
directed towards a mass movement to combat the evils of the slum and to
eliminate the slums altogether in stages, that would be an appropriate
response to the movie.

The
fact is, India is too great a country to have its reputation made or
broken by a single movie and Indians everywhere should have thicker
skins. Heck, I was ready to protest within the first few minutes of the
movie, too. After all, the main torturer in the film is a constable
named Srinivas!

The
words spewed from the lips of eight boys in Catholic school uniforms
gathered outside their junior high school in New York City. The object
of their spite was a fellow seventh grader, a brown kid with metal
braces on his teeth and a clip-on tie on his neck. He was the only
Indian boy in a school filled with whites, blacks, Hispanics, and a few
Asians. There was one Indian-looking girl in the sixth-grade, but he'd
seen her only from afar.

The chanting continued as the boys
circled the Indian kid, yelling, laughing, and taunting him. One of the
bigger boys reached out and shoved him. Someone caught the Indian and
pushed him back. He looked nervous, his face bordering on fright. The
taunting continued. "Hin-doo Gan-dee."

A teacher happened to wander by and ordered the boys to "break it up." And just like that, it was over.

That was 17 years ago, and I was the Indian boy.

I
had gotten their attention because the previous night, at the Oscars,
two movies that my schoolmates were cheering for--"E.T. the
Extra-Terrestrial" and "Tootsie"--were almost shut out. You see, that
evening in 1983, "Gandhi" won eight Academy Awards and made a few
ignorant young Americans unhappy. Their little brown alien had been
silenced by a little brown man.

For a couple of minutes that distant day, my Indianness was not my strongest asset.

I went on to describe making my peace with Oscar. Two years in a
row, South Asians had been featured prominently at the Oscars. In 1999,
it was Shekhar Kapur's "Elizabeth" and in 2000, it was M. Night Shyamalan and the six nominations for "The Sixth Sense," as well as Deepak Nayar,
co-producer of "Buena Vista Social Club," a nominee for best
documentary, plus, "Caravan," a French-Nepalese production in the
category for best foreign film and Nepal's first nomination for an
Oscar.

I had been allowed to watch the Oscar telecast in 1983 and still remember being excited to see light-blue-sari-clad Bhanu Athaiya collect the Best Costume award, even though I had no idea who she was (and, by the way, I am not even sure that was the color!).

In the NYC of the early 1980s, seeing anything Indian hit the
mainstream was impossible. Unlike today, when it's routine for my kids
to see South Asian faces pop-up all over the TV, from Vijay Singh at golf tournaments, to M.I.A. at the Grammys, to Kal Penn at the Obama inaugural concert (and "House"), to Apu on "The Simpsons," to Padma Lakshmi on "Top Chef," to my friend Ajay Mehta, who plays the grocery store manager in those ubiquitous Fiber One ads ("Carboard, no. Delicious, yes."). And that's not counting all the desi faces doing newsy stuff, Sanjay Gupta, Ali Velshi, Zain Verjee, Martin Bashir, Uma Pemmaraju, Kevin Negandhi, Fareed Zakaria etc, etc, etc, etc and even Aasif Mandvi, fake reporter on "The Daily Show."

When
I was growing up here, the only desi journalist on TV: a family friend
reading the news from India on an almost-homemade one-hour Indian TV
show. No desi authors on book tours, no celebrity desi chefs or
directors, no desi governors and no desi CEOs of Fortune 500 corporations. Just this week, my kids took in stride the elimination ofAnoop Desai, who'd made it to the top 36 on "American Idol."There
were certainly no desis on the equivalent of "American Idol" back then
- that would be "That's Incredible," I guess ("Star Search" didn't even
debut, desi-free, till I had left the U.S.).

So just why am I,
like my father accuses me of being, a champion of Slumdog? Its
cinematography, its storytelling, its music, capture the sounds, sights
and, yes, smells of Mumbai in all their glorious - and not so glorious
- parts. So those are certainly good reasons to like it.

But
there is, I am sure - if you psychoanalyze me - a deeper reason for my
liking it and several other high-quality desi-themed English movies of
recent years, specifically "Monsoon Wedding," "Bend It Like Beckham"
and "The Namesake." The fact that all these made at least somewhat of a
dent in the American consciousness and won critical (if not major box
office) attention is something that the 13-year-old in me might just be giddy about. And if this is the film that finally gets A.R. Rahman
the international recognition he deserves, that's just a bonus (though
I wonder if they will learn to pronounce his name right this time).

A final note: Turns out those ignorant 7th graders were in good company. Two days after the Oscars, on April 13, 1983, NYT's Janet Maslin wrote:

The
Oscar seemed to have been confused with the Nobel Peace Prize, at least
temporarily. Someday, the sweep that brought ''Gandhi'' eight academy
awards may be known as one of the great injustices in the annals of
Oscardom; even the audience at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion was more
responsive to the film clips of ''E.T.'' and ''Tootsie'' than to
excerpts from the winning film.

Everyone,
it seems, has an opinion about "Slumdog Millionaire." And with the
Oscars being announced Sunday night, those opinions are being spouted
all over the place - in Los Angeles, in Mumbai and everywhere in
between. So here is the START of a roundup of the opinion pieces
surrounding Slumdog (it's too much work to keep typing out the full
title or to worry about quote marks). In order to make it more exhaustive
(and exhausting to read!) please post essays, blog posts, links, etc, in the comments section below.

~~~

Before
I get to the roundup, however, I wanted to get a little personal and
recount some of what happened this week across three generations of
Sreenivasans, tell you of a childhood incident and share how I made
peace with Oscar.

As we were planning this weekend's Academy
Award-viewing plans, I mentioned them to my 5-year-old twins, Durga and
Krishna. "Oscar Award?" asked Krishna, "is that when they give awards
for garbage?" - referring, of course, to the green,
garbage-can-inhabiting Muppet on Sesame Street, Oscar the Grouch.

As I tried to correct him, I realized his description of the Oscars would please his grandfather, my dad, T.P. Sreenivasan.
If he'd heard Krishna, he might have said, "Yes, that's about right."
After all, that's basically what my father thinks of the worthiness of
Slumdog. He captured his feelings about the movie in a piece in India's
Rediff.com entitled "Exploiting India." Among the, er, highlights:

* Having read the novel
and seen the film, I cannot say that it has done more good than harm to
India. This is not a matter of my wanting to shove the reality under
the carpet.